


Scars

by nightrose, noxfauna



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Body Image, Disabled Character, Domestic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Recovery, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-09 05:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11097942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxfauna/pseuds/noxfauna
Summary: Everything is normal, almost normal, between Bucky and Steve. There's just one little thing...Bucky never touches Steve anymore.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Scars](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/297180) by noxfauna. 



> Written for the Cap Reverse Big Bang challenge. Please check out noxfauna's beautiful art, which inspired this piece.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Things are almost normal between them. _Almost._

 

It’s three years since he first saw Bucky, not dead at all, masked and brainwashed as the Winter Soldier. Two years since he found Bucky again, and went to war to protect him. Eight short months since he pulled Bucky out of cryo, removing the trigger words from his brain with the help of a somewhat abashed Tony. In the time since, they’ve fallen into a comfortable routine. Things have always been easy between the two of them, and this is no different, in spite of the years, in spite of the pain, in spite of everything. 

 

They wake up early and jog together, side by side and silent. At first Bucky would push himself painfully fast, but now he keeps up a comfortable pace for the whole five-mile circuit, right next to Steve. They eat breakfast in the apartment, chugging down gallons of orange juice and plates of scrambled eggs. They both have hearty appetites, and now that Bucky has had a chance to recover, physically if not mentally, he can eat almost as much as Steve can. They start to wake up slowly about halfway through the meal, silence replaced by the slow chatter of familiar jokes and well-worn stories that feel brand new a full century later. After breakfast Steve washes the plates and goes into meetings for the Avengers while Bucky sees his array of therapists—psychotherapy from nine to ten, physical therapy from ten to eleven, psychiatrist, nutritionist, and general practitioner from eleven to twelve depending on the day. Then Steve either cooks lunch or they go out together, to one of the few diners left in the city or some fancy new place to cross something like _pho_ or rainbow bagels off Steve’s list. Bucky is partial to soup dumplings. They sometimes stroll around the city together, going to a museum or a park or a store. Sometimes they’ll pick up ingredients for Steve’s culinary adventures, sometimes they’ll meet up with friends to spar for a few hours or just for a cup of coffee, and once in a while Bucky will ask for a moment alone and disappear. But he always comes back before too long, and Steve is glad to watch him go if he knows he’s coming back. Dinner is usually just the two of them at home, if there isn’t some sort of gala event, and then Bucky will read while Steve sketches or they’ll watch a movie together. They sleep in the same room, though not in the same bed. Bucky still sleeps on the floor, which breaks Steve’s heart a little but he’s learned not to push it. They wake up the next morning before the sun, and Bucky’s face is the first thing Steve sees. That’s enough. That’s more than he ever thought he’d have. 

 

It’s a routine, and a good one. Except for the one thing, the one thing that Steve can’t stop noticing no matter how much he wishes he didn’t have to see it. At first, it slipped by him unnoticed. There was so much going on (so much going wrong) that it wasn’t worth thinking about. Now, though, now that Bucky is basically functional, now that he even seems happy most of the time, Steve can’t stop thinking about this. He hates himself a little for how much he cares. It shouldn’t matter, not when Bucky is here with him again, not when he’s smiling and sleeping next to Steve and teasing him over lunch. But he does notice, and he does care. Maybe just because it’s the one thing that’s really changed. 

 

They never, ever touch. Bucky hasn’t so much as let their hands brush while passing Steve a plate to put away or knocked their knees together on the couch in the eight months they’ve been living together. 

 

Everything else, even if it isn’t the same as when they were kids, is at least recognizable. It’s something they might have done.

 

But they always touched. They held hands as kids, they wrestled and roughhoused when Steve was well enough, they sat too close on park benches, they shared beds and snuggled close, and when they got older they shared other things too. Sweet things, secret things, things they could have out in the open now, if Bucky still wanted that. 

 

Steve’s honestly got no problem with it if that’s in the past. He’s just grateful to have Bucky back, and he’s not about to start questioning his miracle. Sex was never that important to him. He loved it with Bucky because it meant being closer to him, meant being everything to him. He’d happily sacrifice it to have Bucky back. He just wishes he knew—knew what was between them, knew what the boundaries were, knew what Bucky expected. Then he could be sure he wouldn’t hurt him, and that’s what matters most. 

 

So he does what any sensible person would do, and goes to the smartest woman he knows for advice. Of course, he doesn’t let on that that’s what he’s doing. He has to maintain a little pride, after all, and that’s difficult where she’s concerned. Besides, her mockery is merciless enough as it is. He doesn’t need to hand her a new round of ammunition. 

 

He and Natasha are sparring in one of the dozens of gyms in Avengers tower. He’s just dodged an expert side kick when he lets it out in one rushed breath, not looking at her while he speaks. He tries to say it like it’s casual, but he knows what a bizarre thing it is to say in the middle of a fight, even a practice one. 

 

“Bucky never touches me.”

 

“I _knew_ there was something wrong with you,” she replies, grabbing his arm and twisting it up behind his back. He grits his teeth and tries to breathe through the pain jabbing through his shoulder. It’s not that easy, even with the enhanced endurance his serum gives him. Natasha is a merciless fighter, even in practice, and she’s skilled. “You usually never let me get an arm bar in.” For good reason, too, since it hurts enough that it takes him a moment to get his thoughts together enough to counter her move. 

 

He steadies his feet on the floor and shoves, using brute strength to push her off. He tries to avoid that when he’s sparring, since it hardly makes him a better fighter, but practicing with Natasha is never the moment for his stubborn pride. With her unenhanced abilities and smaller frame, she still beats him at least one round out of three. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I just want to make sure he’s all right. That’s all.”

 

“So ask him about it.”

 

“I don’t want him to feel pressured.” 

 

“So don’t pressure him.”

 

“But I do want…” He trails off, and she circles him warily, looking for the next opening—though whether for a blow, or to tell him yet another way he’s messed up his own life, Steve isn’t sure. 

 

“It won’t hurt him to tell him the truth. I might even say you owe him that.”

 

“But what if he doesn’t stop me? What if he…” He can’t even contemplate the rest of that thought, can’t speak it aloud. Of course, Natasha won’t let it be. It’s not in her nature. 

 

She sighs heavily, and pins him up against the wall with a well-placed shoulder. “Steven, listen to me. I would put the odds of you accidentally raping him at less than half of one percent, and I am not widely known for my optimistic and sunny disposition.”

 

“You know better than me, what it was like. What they did to him. Do you really think I can be sure he’ll stop me, no matter how much he needs to?”

 

“No,” Natasha says plainly. “I don’t think you’ll ever be sure of that, not after what they did to him. But I also think you know him well enough not to take any advantage of it. You’ll know what he means, no matter what he says.”

 

She steps back, letting Steve get in a full breath. 

 

“It’s not about what I want,” Steve says. “Or, no, I mean, it’s not about that I want to be with him. I do, of course, but I could deal with that the same way I have been since I woke up.”

 

“Excessive masturbation?” Natasha suggests, and Steve snorts.

 

“Yeah. I’m happy enough with that, y’know? I’d be perfectly satisfied if all he wanted was to be friends. I don’t even mean all. We were friends before we were ever anything else. But I don’t know what he does want. And I’m afraid of just going with the flow, assuming, and hurting him more, somehow.”

 

“Mm. I have a proposed solution for you.”

 

“What?”

 

“This is going to sound radical,” she warns, stepping back. “It’s really out there. Are you ready?”

 

“I’m ready,” Steve says, curious.

 

“Have you tried opening your big, dumb, mouth and asking him?”

 

Well. Steve would be much more offended by the way Natasha phrased that question were it not for the clear, obvious, and factual answer he has to give. “No. No, I have not tried that.”

 

“Might I suggest you give it a shot?”

 

Steve wants to defend himself, wants to point out why he hasn’t—it’s not _just_ because he’s an idiot, it’s because he’s been terrified of pressuring Bucky—but they’ve already been over that, and the fact is, Natasha’s right. He’ll know the difference between a terrified, triggered Bucky and a nervous, but normal Bucky. He’s known Bucky all his life, after all. “Thank you,” he says. “You’re right.”

 

“Always am. Now go shower before you talk to him, on the off-chance he does jump your bones. You don’t want to look quite so much like I just kicked your ass.”

 

Steve is about to remind her that that’s not _quite_ what happened, but he figures it’s close enough that he’ll let her have the satisfaction. 

 

***

 

He tries not to spend too long futzing with his hair before going to speak to Bucky. He wants to look his best, of course. He always does. Having Bucky back has brought out a vain side of him that he didn’t even know existed. He wasn’t so self-conscious of his looks back when he had to just accept that he was never going to be handsome. And Bucky always seemed to like him well enough even when he was scrawny and funny-looking. Still, ever since Bucky came back he feels like he’s always trying to impress. That’s part of why it’s time to have this conversation, part of what makes Natasha so undeniably, infuriatingly right. He’s been on the edge ever since he realized that Bucky still wasn’t quite back to normal. Sooner or later, his anxiety is going to break through, going to start affecting Bucky’s recovery. If he’s not ready to speak up for his own sake, he’ll gladly do it for Bucky’s. 

 

He can almost hear Natasha’s voice in his ear: _Stupid, self-sacrificing idiot—_ but he accepts that. It’s who he is, always has been. He’s just lucky that Bucky is here for him to make sacrifices for. 

 

He hears the door open and gives up on his hair. 

 

“Bucky?”

 

There’s a long quiet moment while Bucky does his usual check of all the doors, scans for enemies, and then finally sits on his favorite spot on the couch, the dead-center one that allows him to sit up perfectly straight and see both doors and all the windows. 

 

Steve takes one last lingering look at himself in the mirror, sighs, and goes to meet him. 

 

“Hi Steve.”

 

“Hi. How was coffee?”

 

Bucky makes a face. “Tried something called a nitro. It had bubbles in it. And a lot of caffeine. It made me anxious.”

 

He doesn’t do well with caffeine. Luckily, though, it moves through his system quickly enough that it probably isn’t still bothering him. “You feeling okay now?”  


“Yeah. Just a real jittery fifteen minutes. I guess coffee was different, back in the day.”

 

There certainly weren’t so many fancy options. Steve likes the hipster coffee shops, the unicorn lattés and coconut-cream cold brews, but it’s certainly not the way things used to be. The new world is better in a lot of ways, especially now that Bucky’s in it, but he understands missing the past. “I’m glad you’re better.”

 

“Me too. Still scares me, when my brain gets out of control like that. How’s Nat?”

 

“Good. She kicked my ass a bit.”

 

Bucky smiles at that. “Yeah, I bet she did.”

 

“I could’ve beat her, if—“

 

“Sure, sure,” Bucky teases, and Steve smiles back at him, and in that moment he has no intention of talking about anything stressful or hard because this is perfect. This is Bucky, with him, returned to him, and he’s laughing and happy and everything is all right. Everything is going to stay all right, if he just somehow manages not to put his oversized foot in his genetically modified mouth. “You sure nothing’s wrong?”

 

Well, there goes the notion of not saying anything about it. He would be frustrated, if not for the fact that he loved how well Bucky knows him and always has. “I’m fine.”

 

“All right. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, I just want you to know that you can. If you decide you’d like to.”

 

“I’m fine,” Steve says again. “I just, well, I guess I was wondering if you were.”

 

“The coffee’s all metabolized, I’m all right.”

 

“I don’t mean that. I just…” He takes a deep breath. “Listen, I want you to know that I’m not saying this to pressure you or anything. I don’t care. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”

 

“Okay, got it. No pressure.” Bucky smiles with one corner of his mouth, patting the seat next to him on the couch. “Why don’t you stop pacing and come tell me?”

 

He does, though it’s hard to sit still. He twists his hands in his lap, fidgeting, and doesn’t meet Bucky’s eyes. “I’ve just noticed, one thing that’s different since you came back. And I want to make sure this is really what you want.”

 

“Which is? C’mon, Stevie, spit it out.”

 

It’s Bucky’s tone, so normal, so casual and calm and just the way he always was, that makes him able to say it. “We never touch anymore. I was assuming you wanted more personal space, and that’s completely fine, but I just want to make sure I know where the boundaries are, that I’m not, you know, doing something you don’t want me to, or not doing something you wish I would.”

 

“And what do you want?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“I don’t hear anything about you in there. A lot of worry about me, sure. Which I thought you’d gotten over, actually, and I see now that was foolish because who would you be without being absurdly self-sacrificing, but anyway, what do you want?”

 

“I want you to be safe and happy, that’s all.”

 

“That’s all? You’re wholly disinterested here?” Bucky sighs. “Listen. Steve. I haven’t… Ah, shit, this is embarrassing. I’m not the same as I was back then.”

 

“I know that.”

 

“No, I mean. I don’t look the same.”

 

“Yeah, and I used to be a lot shorter. What’s your point?” 

 

“My point is I don’t want to take off my clothes and have you be disgusted at what you see!” Bucky shouts, leaping to his feet, and then takes a deep breath. “Shit. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

 

“No, it’s okay. Don’t apologize. You can be upset.” It’s something they’ve been working on a lot, Bucky’s fits of near-rage. It’s hard for Bucky, still, to admit that he’s angry at what happened to him, that it shouldn’t have, that it was wrong. “I don’t mean sex, Buck. I don’t care if we ever have sex again. I just want to know—if I held your hand, if we sat close enough to touch, would that be okay? Or is that something you don’t want? I promise, I swear, I don’t care what the answer is. I’ll be here with you either way. I’ll love you either way. I just want to know.”

 

“You got it all wrong, Stevie.”

 

“So explain it to me.”

 

“It ain’t that I don’t want to be with you. It’s not that at all. It’s just that I’m different now. I know you wouldn’t ever say anything about it, no matter what you were thinking. I’m ugly now, and I’m scared you won’t like what you see when you look at me. My arm’s gone, I got scars, I’m different.”

 

“Well, that’s a fuckin’ relief,” Steve says, and Bucky stares at him. 

 

“What?”

 

“You’re insecure about how you’re gonna look naked. That’s fine, I mean, not fine. That sucks. But I understand. It’s… it’s normal. You’ve changed, your body doesn’t look quite how it used to, and that’s hard to deal with. I understand. I’ve even been through it myself, in a different sort of way. I’ve been thinking this was something else completely. That you were relapsing, that you were goin’ back to the way things used to be. If all that’s happened is that you’re feeling down on yourself ‘cause of how you look… I mean, of course I’m not happy about that. I’m never happy for things to be hard for you. But it’s a lot better than if you were going back to the trigger words. This is something we can get through together.”

 

Bucky is quiet for a long time. He stares at Steve with those eyes, so familiar and yet so changed, so tender and yet sometimes, like now, as cold and hard as ice. Steve waits, trying to be patient, trying not to push. It’s not easy. He’s never been the kind of man who excelled at leaving things be, even if leaving things be was by far the obvious and right option, the best way to move forward. This time, though, he doesn’t have the option of making a mistake. He’s looking out for Bucky, and that’s the most important thing he’ll ever do, and that means he’s gotta learn when to keep his mouth shut. He waits, and he watches Bucky, and sure enough, after a while, Bucky speaks. 

 

“You gotta promise me something first,” he says.

 

“Anything,” Steve answers. 

 

“That’s the fucking problem, Steve. I ask for something, you’re agreeing to it before you even know what it is. What if I asked for something you really don’t want to do? What if you couldn’t, for whatever reason? I need you to look out for yourself, not just look out for me.”

 

Steve is about to protest, but he makes himself take a break, makes himself actually think about it. He’s forced to admit something he doesn’t really care to—Bucky is definitely right. He’s totally put himself aside to keep Bucky safe and happy. He doesn’t regret it, not really, but he’s been forgetting that they’re equals in this, that they always have been. That everything he’s done for Bucky, Bucky would gladly do for him, and has. So instead of protesting, he says, “I’m sorry.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

 

“Hang on,” Bucky says. “I just, I need a moment. I just need to preserve this memory in my mind for all eternity. The day Steve Rogers admitted that he was wrong.”

 

“You’re such a jerk. You know that?”

 

“You sure tell me often enough.” But he’s laughing when he says it, and Steve’s heart swells up with hope. 

 

“So? You think you’re gonna be willing to let me prove you wrong?”

 

“I guess so,” Bucky says. And then he does something amazing.

 

Slowly, carefully, he stretches his hand out towards Steve.

 

Steve waits patiently, lets him take all the first move. He doesn’t push, doesn’t press. He knows better than that, even though every second that goes by is actually quite agonizing. Still, he waits, breathing in and out steadily, watching as Bucky’s hand closes the distance between them. 

 

Bucky’s hand in his, after all this time, feels soft and warm, feels right. He never wants to let go, though he knows he’ll have to someday.

 

Not just yet though. Not just yet.

 

Bucky squeezes Steve’s fingers tight in his, and smiles a little, almost shyly, though he shouldn’t be. The two of them know each other so well, better maybe than anyone else in the whole world. But they’re also getting to know each other again, for the very first time. It’s strange and, strangely, wonderful, and Steve wouldn’t want it any other way. Oh, he’d make it so Bucky never had to go through any of this if he could. Of course he would. But he wouldn’t want anything other than to be here with him, clawing their way back to normal together. 

 

***

 

Steve can’t say he was expecting Bucky to jump right into bed with him or anything like that. In fact, he’s surprised at the amount of progress Bucky is making. He’ll let his hand brush against Steve’s now, sit a little closer to him if they’re watching a movie, even sometimes brush a careless kiss against his cheek before they turn the lights out at night. It’s more than enough.

 

So he’s surprised when, a little more than a month later, Bucky asks, “Hey, do you want to have sex?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Sex. You and me. Do you want to give it a shot?”

 

“You don’t have to—“ 

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t the question. It’s a simple yes-no proposition. Yes, you would like to have sex with me, or no, you wouldnot like to. Just wonderin’.”

 

“Yes,” Steve says, or perhaps rather admits. “Yes, I would very much like to.”

 

“Good. There’s a start, you self-sacrificing idiot.” Bucky smiles at him, though, which pretty efficiently takes all the sting right out of his words. “I love you, Steven Grant Rogers, and I do intend to make love to you again. We have a whole second life. We can kiss in the middle of Broadway now! I’d like to be able to. But it might take me a while to get there. I just wanted to know, well, if you think it’s somethin’ worth trying for.”

 

“Of course I do, Bucky,” Steve says. “Of course it’s what I want. What I want is you, always have been. That hasn’t changed in seventy years. I don’t expect it ever will. I expect when we die—can we die, by the way? Like, will we get older? Ought to try and sort that one out. Anyway, when we die, I expect it’ll be side by side and hand in hand, and I expect I’ll still want more of you even though I’ve had you a thousand ways.”

 

“That estimate seems a little low,” Bucky says. “And I hope you’re gonna have me a thousand more. You want to try and practice?”

 

Steve certainly does.

 

They start off slow, just kissing, and not much else. It seems to be Steve’s hands that bother Bucky the most, so he’s in the suddenly strange position of trying to touch Bucky just with his mouth. It’s nice, though, being able to be close to him again. In any and every way he’s ready for, in any and every way he wants. 

 

***

 

They’re curled up in bed next to each other when Bucky suddenly declares, “I want a new arm.”

 

“Okay,” Steve says at once. “I’ll make sure you get it. You wanna tell me what brought this on, though?”

 

Bucky shrugs. “I just… at first I was scared of what it would mean, having a prosthetic again. It would mean I could have to go back into the field. It would mean I was the Soldier again, maybe. But now I’m putting that behind me. I don’t want an arm that can stop bullets or break through concrete. I’d like to be able to read a book more easily, though, or open a jar myself. Tony helped me with the brain things. He might help me with this too.”

 

“I’m sure he will,” Steve agrees. “We’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

 

Tony’s eyes light up with excitement at the challenge. He’s been working hard to make things up to the two of them, especially to Bucky, after the disaster that was Siberia. And he always loves a new opportunity to test his technical skills. “I can do a better job than those Nazi idiots anyway,” Tony says, but Bucky carefully interrupts. 

 

“I don’t want that. I don’t want it to be like it was before. I don’t want a weapon. Just an arm. Just to… to go back, if I can.”

 

“Okay,” Tony says, possibly because Steve is glaring at him in the most ferocious fashion he can muster up.

 

It takes Tony only a few hours to design and build a prosthetic that’s as close to a mechanical version of an ordinary arm as possible. He uses his latest suit for a model, and he already has the technology that lets him control his own mechanics with his brain. It’s just a matter of adapting it to work for Bucky. For someone like Tony, that’s hardly a problem. The only problem with the arm, as it turns out, is that it has to actually be attached to Bucky’s body. 

 

The new arm is mechanically powered, so unlike the old one, it supports its own weight hydraulically just as Tony’s suit does. It won’t need to constantly pull on attachment points in what remains of Bucky’s shoulder. But it will need to be surgically attached, and connected to the nerves directly so Bucky can use his brain directly to move the arm. 

 

And the complication there is that Bucky can’t be sedated. 

 

Just like Steve, with the serum Bucky metabolizes everything so quickly that he can’t actually be put under for a surgery. The only option his doctors can come up with for pain management is to put him into cryo again, wait for him to be knocked unconscious by the cold, and then do the surgery as quickly as possible, hoping he won’t wake up until the arm is attached. 

 

Bucky doesn’t even consider that. “I’m not going back into the cold,” he says. He’d done it willingly once, and that had been a mistake, a misguided attempt to punish himself. He won’t do it again. “I’d rather just go through the surgery.”

 

“It’s going to take about two hours,” Tony explains. “And it’s going to hurt. A lot.”

 

“I’ve been hurt before.”

 

That doesn’t mean that Steve wants to see him get hurt again, but he also isn’t going to leave Bucky to suffer through it alone. In the past, the torment inflicted on him has been medical, cold and cruel. He’s been strapped down, isolated, separated. Steve won’t let him go through that again. 

 

He stands by the top of the operating table, keeping his eyes on Bucky throughout the surgery. There’s a sheet blocking off where the actual work is happening—Steve can’t see the surgery. That was Bucky’s request, not his. Steve still hasn’t seen him with his shirt off. He wouldn’t flinch at having to watch, if Bucky’s the one enduring it, but he respects Bucky’s wishes. Since he can’t see anything but Bucky’s face, he focuses as much as he can on that, on trying to make this a little bit easier for him, if he can. He watches closely as Bucky’s face contorts, twisting and trembling with every slice of the scalpel. The actual surgery is being conducted by one of Tony’s robots, and the little machine at least works fast, but he has to expose all the nerves in Bucky’s shoulder in order to anchor the arm to something that will connect directly to his brain. When it’s up and running, it will be a miracle of engineering, but in the mean time, Bucky is wide awake and in pain. 

 

Steve tries to talk to him to keep him calm. He tells Bucky all his dumbest stories—about how he and Sam met, about how many times he got hit in the face practicing with his shield rebound trick, about pranks he played on Tony. Then he turns serious, tells Bucky how much he loves him, how much care he’s going to take ofhim, how proud he is of him, how glad he is to get him back.

 

The scariest thing about the whole process is that Bucky is completely silent the entire time. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t scream or cry out. And he should. It’s obvious, even with his stoicism, that he’s in pain, but he doesn’t show it.

 

It breaks Steve’s heart to think of what it must have taken to teach Bucky this, to convince him that it’s not safe to cry out even when he’s in agony. It breaks Steve’s heart again to realize some part of him still thinks it, that maybe the change in how he reacts is permanent. Bucky used to be such a whiner, bitching for hours if he even stubbed his toe. Now he’s cut open and bleeding and silent. He misses the old Bucky, and at the same time he loves the Bucky in front of him, the Bucky who is bravely taking his life back, step by cautious step.

 

Soon enough, it’s done. Steve has been counting the seconds, but if Bucky has any sense of how long his agony has gone on for, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he looks up at Steve and smiles. “Can’t wait to show you how it looks, Stevie.”

 

“You didn’t go through all this just so—“

 

Bucky cuts him off before he can even say the whole horrid thought. “You know, Rogers, not everything in the world is about you.”

 

That startles a laugh out of Steve. “Fair enough.”

 

“Maybe I want my arm back. And maybe I want to show you everything I can do to you now that I’ve got two hands again.”

 

That makes Steve shiver, and Tony cough. “Um, no sex for… well, normally after an operation of this magnitude I’d say six weeks, but for you two weirdos, maybe, like, give it a day or so and make sure he’s not having any pain in the arm first?”

 

“Of course,” Steve says. “We can wait the whole six weeks. There’s no rush.”

 

“Says you,” Bucky grumbles. But as it turns out, it isn’t much of a strain to wait at all. Bucky is too busy practicing with the new arm, exploring all the things he can do with it. He can, as he mentioned, now open jars without assistance. He can read. He can cook. He can lift heavy weights. 

 

***

 

 

It’s on the sixth day after the surgery, when he lifts the couch up so Steve can sweep under it and reports no pain, that he decides the arm is probably as attached as it’s ever going to be. 

 

“What do you say, Stevie? Want to give this thing a test drive?”

 

“Your arm, you mean?” 

 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No, man, my new car. Of course, my arm.”

 

“If you want to.”

 

“I want. What do you want?”

 

“To be with you, Buck. Any and every way you’ll let me. Today and tomorrow and for as long as we can. Does that answer your question?”

 

He figures that’s a yes, since Bucky leans in close and kisses him hard. This time, unlike their previous attempts at intimacy, Bucky starts to pull his own shirt off. Then he hesitates, his metal fingers still tangled in the hem of his t-shirt. 

 

“You don’t have to,” Steve assures him, “But I know I’m gonna love you no matter what you’ve got under there. You could be hiding a third nipple or, I don’t know, tentacles or some shit, and I’d still think I was the luckiest guy in the world for getting to do it with you.”

 

“Always knew you were a freak,” Bucky says with a smile, lifting his shirt up over his head. 

 

The first thing Steve notices is how damn muscular Bucky has gotten. He was always in amazing shape, but now he’s even more perfect. He wants to get his mouth all over Bucky’s abs, wants to trace every curve of his body. 

 

The next thing he sees are the scars.

 

They start at the attachment points to the arm, and weave all over Bucky’s shoulder, and down across the left side of his chest. They’re red and jagged, angry-looking, and Steve can only imagine how much it hurts. But he doesn’t indulge in the depressing thought for too long, because he can already see how Bucky is pulling away from him, his eyes downcast. 

 

“You’re so damn gorgeous,” Steve says, breaking the silence between the two of them. 

 

“Don’t,” Bucky tries, but the word sticks in his throat. 

 

“I won’t say it if it upsets you, but it’s the truth. You’re so damn hot, and I am so damn lucky.”

 

“I didn’t know you were allowed to swear, Captain America.” 

 

“I made sure to clock out before coming up here, don’t worry.” And Steve almost can’t believe he was so nervous about this. Of course he was, because it’s _Bucky,_ the most precious person in his life, but on the other hand it’s Bucky—the same as ever, the man he’s always known and loved. 

 

Bucky grins, and leans in close to kiss him. 

 

“You gotta tell me if I cross a line,” Steve tells him, urgently. 

 

“I will.”

 

That promise exchanged, Steve leans down to kiss Bucky’s scars. At the first gentle press of Steve’s lips against his skin, Bucky flinches back a little, but then he relaxes. It’s as if he’s saying, silently but eloquently, with his beautiful body, _Oh. Oh, that’s you. I know you. You’re my Steve._

 

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Steve promises. He’s not sure if Bucky can really hear him, since Steve’s lips are still pressed to the spiraling mass of scar tissue covering Bucky’s shoulder, but it doesn’t much matter. He’ll tell Bucky this today and tomorrow and for as long as it takes. He’ll repeat it again and again, with words and with his touch, until Bucky knows, until Bucky remembers. 

 

This, too, is his to keep. This, too, is his again. 

 

“You are so beautiful, James Buchanan Barnes. You’re so beautiful and you’re all mine and damn if that doesn’t make me the luckiest man in the world.”

 

He kisses his way down, from the scar tissues around Bucky’s shoulder, to the prosthetic itself. He carefully presses a feather-light touch of his lips against the spot where the metal joins Bucky’s skin, watching closely for any sign that it hurts. Bucky doesn’t flinch, though, so Steve kisses it again, a little more boldly. He’s surprised to find that the metal feels warm against his lips. He supposes that makes sense, what with all of Tony’s engineering expertise, but he’d expected cold, hard. Instead, everything about Bucky is soft and welcoming, like it always has been. Bucky is his home, like he always has been. 

 

“I’m never letting you go again, Buck. I’ll never stop telling you how lucky I am to have you. I’ll never stop being sorry for letting you down. I’ll never stop being glad I have you back. I’ll never, never lose sight of that. Every minute, every second, every kiss is a gift.”

 

Steve takes Bucky’s metal hand in his, feeling the soft articulation of the joints, the warmth of the new prosthetic against his fingers. He raises it to his lips, kissing the back of Bucky’s hand gently. Bucky lets out a soft little laugh, and then smiles gently, and then turns around, kissing Steve furiously on the lips. When they have to break away for air, Bucky growls, “I fuckin’ love you so much too, you big sap.”

 

“C’mere,” Steve urges, working his fingers into the belt loops of Bucky’s jeans so he can pull him closer, pull their hips flush against one another’s. Bucky’s hard as a rock in his pants, Steve can feel it, and as their erections make contact Bucky lets out a low groan. He’s missed that sound. He’s missed every single thing about Bucky.

 

Part of him wonders if he should be going gentler, if he shouldn’t be doing things the way they always used to. And a bigger part of him knows that’s ridiculous. This is Bucky, same as ever, and if he doesn’t like things the same way he used to he’ll tell Steve. Steve trusts him on that. He’s learned his lesson about trying to make decisions for Bucky. That’s why they’ve had to wait so long to get back to this point, and God knows he doesn’t want to put himself through any more stupid decisions like _that._

 

Bucky’s so good to him, too, kisses him back even fiercer, gives twice as good as he’s gotten. He reaches for Steve’s clothes, stripping him efficiently, and then kicks his own pants off. He’s not wearing underwear, and he’s gloriously hard, dripping with it, and Steve just has to drop to his knees. It feels like he can barely help himself. 

 

“Let me?” he asks. 

 

Bucky smiles down at him. “I see you haven’t changed.”

 

He always used to tease Steve some about how much Steve liked sucking him off. Steve’s happy enough to take it—it’s true, he does love having a cock in his mouth, as long as it’s Bucky’s. “Please, Bucky?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Steve is so fucking _grateful_ for this, so glad that they can be this close again. He can’t say it as he leans forward to take Bucky’s cock back into his mouth, but he tries to show him nonetheless, tries to put tenderness and devotion into every motion of his lips and tongue. After a moment, though, after licking away the beaded drops of fluid at the tip of Bucky’s cock, after finally putting the velvet soft hardness of Bucky back in his mouth where it _belongs,_ he pulls away. “Will you…” He’s embarrassed to ask, which isn’t typical of him. Steve doesn’t usually feel a lot of shame about sex. 

 

“Will I what?”

 

“Will you put your hand in my hair? Your, uh, your left hand.”

 

Bucky laughs, but there’s no cruelty in it. “You really have a thing for the metal arm, huh?”

 

Steve sits back on his heels and looks up at Bucky. Their eyes meet. Only when Bucky is looking right back at him does Steve say, “No, Bucky. I really have a thing for _you._ ”

 

Bucky’s mouth opens, like he’s about to say something snarky, but then he just tells Steve, “I love you, I love you so much, c’mere…”

 

And his fingers, his new metal fingers, are knotting ever-so-gently into Steve’s hair, and pulling him forward, and then Bucky’s cock is back in his mouth and every single thing in the world feels right. Steve gets Bucky off thoroughly, taking it slow, making sure that he’ll remember every moment of this reunion, until Bucky can’t bear it anymore and drags Steve’s mouth further down on his cock and comes, gasping. 

 

Steve can still taste the sweet bitterness of Bucky’s come on his lips when Bucky kneels next to him, wrapping his fingers around Steve’s hard cock. They kiss furiously, Bucky’s other hand, his flesh hand, twined in Steve’s hair, as he pulls on Steve’s erection with short, sharp strokes. Steve gasps, unable to hold back. It just feels too good. It’s true that Bucky’s hand was different, flesh and not metal, soft and not hard, the last time they did this, but it’s still Bucky. It’ll always be Bucky. And he’ll never want anything more than he wants this man, whatever he looks like, whoever he is. 

 

He comes over Bucky’s fist as they kiss. It seems to go on forever, Steve’s body drifting on a wave of pleasure, until he comes back to himself, holding on to Bucky.

 

“I hope I can get this shit out of my joints,” Bucky says, looking down at his hand. “That’d be an awkward conversation to have with Tony.”

 

Steve laughs, and laughs, and laughs. It’s not as funny as it seems, he knows that, but at this moment he feels he’ll never be anything but happy again. There will still be difficulties, of course. In the back of his mind, he does know that. Just a few days ago, Bucky was too embarassed to let Steve see him naked. Just a few months ago, he was sleeping in Wakandan cryo chamber. There’s sure to be more trouble ahead. 

 

But Steve will be glad to take on the world, because once again, Bucky is at his side. 


End file.
